Simon Blackfyre and the Corridor of Shadows: Book 2 of the Simon Blackfyre sword and sorcery epic fantasy series

by A J Allen

  Monarch? Simon had not heard that word before. He nudged Rachel and whispered. “Does she speak of a king?”

  “Shhh, that goes without saying,” she answered. Simon felt a tad irked. If it had gone without saying, then he wouldn’t have asked.

  The Holy Seer turned in Rachel’s direction; she, too, had picked up on the nuances.

  “Ahh, but so many things go without saying, my dear, yet there are many more that must be said while there is still time and strength to say them.”

  She squinted toward the front of the hall.

  “It is the only way that any people may finally come to bear the truth of who they are—no matter how difficult the burden.”

  Simon looked up to the front table. Lords Dowrick and Fromund were staring at the old woman, their stern brows creased as though straining with the disapproval their voices could not speak. Byrch stepped in behind them and they both moved slowly away to opposite sides of the hall.

  The Holy Seer took a limping step toward Rachel.

  “Are you ready, my dear, to carry that burden along with all those by your side?”

  Rachel looked at Simon and Jack. “Yes, Holy Seer. I am.”

  A benevolent smile warmed her Holiness’s wrinkled lips as she closed her eyes. The leaves grew out of the pouch and moved as though swaying in a breeze, yet none could be felt in the cool stillness. Murmurs of astonishment drifted through the hall. Those closest to the old woman recoiled, covering their mouths to stifle their screams.

  Lord Lionsbury slammed his fist on the table shocking everyone and sending dishes and cutlery crashing to the floor. “Silence, all of you!” He stormed to his feet. “There are mysteries that you must witness. You will prove yourselves worthy or we shall all suffer the consequences of your wretched cowardice.”

  Lady Bellmar placed her hand on his Lordship’s upper back.

  Lord Lionsbury was appearing regretful of his sudden outburst; he looked away, as if nothing had been uttered. The Holy Seer’s eyes were still closed and she seemed unaware or unmoved by his Lordship’s display, in any case.

  “You are not alone in your fear and anger, Ethan. Have faith in all who are present that they will soon discover the truth that heals our deepest wounds.”

  “Forgive me, Holy Seer.” His Lordship bowed before the astonished assembly. “Forgive me, all of you.” Without another word, he took his seat behind the table.

  “Rachel Fallbrook of Tillingsgate ...” The Holy Seer exhaled once. “You are chosen as the first Protector of the House of Evermere.” She banged the tip of her cane twice on the floor and opened her eyes. Rachel could barely contain her excitement. She blushed and stole a quick look at Simon. “Thank you, Holy Seer.”

  Simon drew a deep breath. Well! This was going to be much easier than he’d thought, evidently. He was next, and when the old woman asked him, he would answer exactly the same as Rachel. He didn’t have to believe any of this. He’d just sail through the motions and be a freeman come wintertime!

  The strange plant slid back into the pouch until only the tops of its spiky leaves were seen again. The Holy Seer shuffled past Simon. She paused as though she wanted to say something, then continued on to the next table, the scent of some pungent, earthy spice or incense trailing after her.

  Simon was dumbfounded. “I don’t understand,” he whispered to Jack. “Why didn’t she ask me?”

  His friend leaned closer. “She will, Simon. She has to. Remember what Rachel said. Have patience.”

  Simon frowned. That was easy enough for Jack Evermere to say. There wasn’t some old witch deciding his fate the same way. Simon watched the old woman intently, as though silently willing her to turn back to him. She had stopped before approaching the next table and seemed rather confused about what to do next.

  Simon steadied his breathing. He could be chosen for another family, even the Tiberions, and there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it.

  A bearded, heavy-set young knight wearing a black, brown and white vesture marched into the hall through the rear door. Simon had seen the same colors on banners at the caravan camp. “Who’s that?”

  Jack craned his neck for a better view. “Goran Velizar. I’m surprised his sister, Dominique, isn’t with him.”

  Goran knelt on one knee. “Forgive my absence, Holy Seer. I have discharged the last of my duties at Farrhaven. I am no longer a member of the Guard.”

  The Holy Seer paused but did not turn to face him. “And where is your sister?”

  “Suffering a grave malady. It came upon her suddenly and the Council physicians are attending to her needs in the infirmary. We are praying for a swift recovery but she may not be able to participate.” He took a deep breath as though fighting to contain his emotion. “I may require another protector in her stead.”

  “I see. Then I will visit the poor child later but may still choose another tonight. Do you understand?”

  “I do. Only you can see the hand of destiny in this.”

  “Whose hand it is, Goran Velizar, is yet to be seen. Now, take your rightful place.” She made a feeble gesture toward an empty table.

  Goran sat down at the table next to Callor who didn’t appear overjoyed at receiving his company. The young Tiberion lord hastily shuffled his chair away.

  A striking young beauty of unearthly loveliness curled the tendrils of her golden hair. Her indigo blue eyes sparkled as she watched the old woman approach.

  “Felicity.” The old woman tilted her head to one side as though seeing something out of place in this most pleasing of feminine aspects. “How are you my dear? Are you feeling better?”

  The young noble woman bowed. “Yes, Holy Seer. I am honored and grateful to be in your presence again.”

  The old woman clasped the young lady’s hands in hers. “Then we must make certain that you remain so this time.”

  “Yes. I will.” Felicity gently stroked the old woman’s hand in a reassuring gesture. “I only wish to serve our people. I will make an offering and pray our King is soon crowned.”

  A barely-perceptible expression of remorse flitted across the old woman’s face. “Very well; so that we may each know our part in what is about to unfold, Felicity Craverston of Dunmoor, take your place as the first Protector of the House of Strathwald.”

  Robert beamed at the announcement. He sat bolt upright and ran a finger around the damp, sweaty collar of his tunic. The other young lords shook their heads, envious of good fortune having smiled so early upon yet another contender to the throne.

  Next, The Holy Seer wobbled up to a wiry young man with course, bronzed skin. She touched the small, circular branding scar on his cheek. Simon knew he’d been bought in the desertlands far south of Miradora and marked according to their custom. The young man looked down and his black hair fell loose over his troubled face.

  Her Holiness brushed it back with trembling fingers as if he was something precious.

  “I know you are afraid, child, but the time will come when your own children will never have to know the pain of that mark on your face.”

  The young man raised his head and smiled. “That is all I pray for every night, Holy Seer.”

  The old woman touched his cheek. “Then, Balasi Wendaru of Khairmak, take your place as the first Protector of the House of Velizar.”

  The Holy Seer continued in this manner, tottering up and down the length of the hall proclaiming protectors for each family without pausing. The unusual plant remained in clear view now, its leaves curling and uncurling like an anxious hand yearning to grasp hold of something it couldn’t reach.

  As she called the person’s name followed by the chosen noble family, she tapped her cane twice and the person would take their seat at one of the four long tables.

  Callor congratulated his beetle-browed friends, Elric Skobb and Damien Reutiger, on being chosen for his family. The Tiberion and Strathwald tables now seated four protectors in addition to each contender—a fair mix of young, able-bodied men an
d women of varying size and appearance—including Robert and Callor.

  Simon couldn’t remember all the names called out and paid little heed to those new faces seated at the other family tables.

  A single empty place remained next to Marcus Evermere, and two beside Goran Velizar. Although one was reserved for his convalescing sister, Dominique, the other might yet be his if the old woman decreed otherwise. Simon expected to see another novice being escorted by a guard into the hall at any moment—but none was announced.

  Simon’s stomach lurched. Was that the reason she was now approaching, with faltering steps, toward him?

  “The one called Simon Blackfyre of Grimsby.”

  “Yes?”

  “That wasn’t a question, child.” She hobbled up to his face, enveloping him with her fragrant aroma of incense. “But I will answer one of yours, nevertheless.”

  Whispers, like the voices of ghosts drifted in behind his back and pushed their way through Simon’s mind. Jack nudged him. “Don’t just stand there with your mouth open. Everyone’s watching. You ninny.”

  The plant ceased its movement and retreated back into the pouch. “I’m— I’m sorry, Holy Seer. I don’t know what exactly you want me to say.”

  She closed her eyes and placed her bony, shaking hand upon Simon’s forehead. Her palm was unexpectedly warm, soothing. “Six heads of a fiery beast that consumes all in its path. Five devour the one, the most fearsome of all, whose vengeance awakened, will sleep no more.” Her hand, now cold, dropped from his forehead.

  She leaned on her cane, wheezing, as though she might collapse at any moment. “Oh dear. Oh dear,” she wheezed. Whatever she’d just said had fairly taken all the wind out of her.

  Simon too gasped for breath and opened his eyes. Did she put him under a spell? How could this old woman have reached into his nightmares and seen the worst of all possible things?

  Simon touched her arm. “Please, you have to tell me—”

  Gasps of disbelief swelled in the hall. Jack tried to pull him back. “Simon, what are you doing? You don’t—”

  The pair of armed warrior monks rushed toward them, swords ready. The Holy Seer raised a trembling hand and they stopped. “I will visit Dominique now. I have remedies that will help her regain her strength and courage, but you, dearest Simon, must seek yours in the hearts of —” She coughed and wheezed again.

  Did he hear correctly? Did she just call him dearest Simon? He removed his hand. “Yes, Holy Seer?”

  She harrumphed and tried to clear her throat as she pointed her quivery finger at the Evermeres.

  Or was it at Rachel?

  She coughed again, louder this time, and didn’t stop. Her pupils rolled back in her eyes and bloody spittle flew out of her mouth. The cane dropped from her hands and she collapsed into Simon’s arms, her fragile body writhing in violent spasms.

  “Help us, please!” Simon crouched on the floor and held her gently.

  The two warrior monks descended on them in a flash. One lifted her into his muscular arms, the other pushing Simon away and raising his sword to strike him dead.

  “No.”

  The Holy Seer’s eyes fluttered open like gray ashes in the wind. “He is not to blame. Not now... and not then.” She fell silent, finally, her head lolling to one side.

  Lord Lionsbury strode to the center of the hall. “Everyone; stand aside! Call for the physician now!”

  The hooded monk rushed with her in his arms toward the rear door. The other followed and slammed the door shut.

  As Simon turned to face Lord Lionsbury and the other nobles, two strong hands each grabbed him by the arm. Byrch and Joren dragged him along the floor.

  “Mister Byrch, I’m—”

  “Not another word, lad. Not another sound. Your life hangs in the silence.”

  Simon fought the urge to bite, to kick, to do anything to break free and run, and allowed himself to be dragged away in humiliation in full view of everyone. Do as they say... just do it, you bloody fool!

  Chapter 4

  Missteps and Blunders

  Simon stood between Messrs. Byrch and Joren in the chamber of the King’s Council Tribunal. At the front table, Lady Bellemar, Lord Dowrick and Lord Fromund conferred in hushed voices with Lord Lionsbury, while old man Rabek wrote in his leather-bound journal. He paused only to dip his quill in the inkwell and squint at Simon through his spectacles.

  Simon had been allowed to explain in detail what had happened in the dining hall. Questions were asked and he answered all to the best of his ability. There was no denying that he was terrified, yet he remained composed and collected in his thoughts as he continued to focus his attention on the people deciding his fate.

  A single nuanced glance, a solitary expression of disapproval or agreement could make the difference between a punishment he could endure and a torture that would make him beg for the mercy of death.

  Lord Lionsbury gestured for him to step forward. “Simon Blackfyre of Grimsby, do you swear by all that is holy and righteous that the testimony you have given to this tribunal is the truth whole and complete, without deception or misrepresentation that is punishable immediately by death?”

  “Yes, your Lordship. I do.”

  “We have entered the testimony of all the witnesses to this unusual event. It includes the Council member and Guards in this chamber, and the heirs of the four contenders to the throne who were present. Except for one dissenting statement from a single heir, and one on this tribunal, all bear witness to the evidence that you have presented.”

  Lord Lionsbury held out a rolled parchment. “And this is the sworn testimony of our most Holy Seer, Lady Zaphora Murik of Wraithburn, written at her insistence even though death’s shadow still be at her bedside.” He unrolled it. “She exonerates you of any evil or malicious intent. Fate willing, she may yet recover to see these rites finished and the new King duly crowned.”

  Simon closed his eyes. Thank you, thank you! He lowered his head and thanked the wise and gracious lady who had shown him such kindness and mercy. He regretted now ever having thought of her as a witch or of casting any fearful insult upon her truly noble character.

  “Thank you. Lord Lionsbury. Thank you all for your understanding.”

  His Lordship turned his attention to several parchments spread out on the table. “Escort him back to the men’s quarters.”

  Byrch hushed his voice. “Well, don’t stand there gawking. Get a move on if you want any sleep tonight.” He placed his heavy hand onto Simon’s shoulder and almost spun him around. Simon could barely stop himself from leaping into the air and running right for the door.

  “We are not finished yet, Simon Blackfyre.”

  This was the first time Simon had been addressed with his name by this noble. He stopped and faced the table.

  “Yes, Lord Dowrick?”

  “You are absolutely certain you do not know what the Holy Seer meant about a six-headed beast?” He narrowed his grave eyes on Simon.

  Simon felt sure that even if he did know, he wouldn’t say anything more about it to this lord. Simon shook his head. “No, your Lordship, I don’t. I was frightened to hear such a thing, the same as anyone else in the hall.”

  “But you were clearly heard asking her a question, Blackfyre.”

  “Yes, my lord, but as I’ve already said in my sworn testimony, I wanted to know if I was to join the Evermere protectors or if the Holy Seer had made another decision.”

  Byrch snorted.

  “Are we finished for this evening, your Lordship? All witnessed the Holy Seer pointing at the Evermere brothers. The lad needs his sleep if he’s to be initiated tomorrow.”

  “If Marcus Evermere still accepts him as one.” Lord Dowrick leaned forward and rested his pointed chin on his clasped hands. “Because of your status, you are not privy to all the rules governing these rites. You should know that each contender has until first dawn to dismiss any of their protectors for any reason they see fit.”

&nb
sp; Byrch, the surprise fresh in his eyes, looked at Simon. He cleared his throat.

  “Since Marcus and his brothers are of the same opinion as his Lordship’s tribunal, I am certain our young Simon will break bread with them, a wiser and more respectful young man, come first light.”

  Lord Dowrick leaned back in his chair. “Who can ever say for certain what the first light will reveal until the night has done its work?” He dismissed them with a condescending gesture. “Now go.”

  Mr. Byrch glanced back at the closed chamber door as they walked toward the men’s quarters. “Well, at least you know what to expect from that sneaky weasel, Dowrick. You keep an eye out for him and for Callor too. I know we’re not supposed to take sides, but if they don’t crown Marcus, we can live with Goran and I’ll hold my nose for Robert, but if that preening Tiberion titmouse ever sits on the throne, then I fear it will be the last king we ever have.”

  “I won’t let that happen, Mister Byrch. None of us will.”

  “Aye, lad. That’s the spirit.”

  Simon shook his head. “What a terrible night. I haven’t even had a chance to see Jesamine.”

  “Don’t worry about her,” Byrch said. “I’ll tend to her before I go and leave her in the good care of Mister Joren.”

  “But you only just arrived.”

  Mr. Byrch rubbed his creased brow. “Lord Lionsbury needs me to ride south toward the sea. The Council is receiving unusual reports from the coastal towns… reports that need looking into.”

  “Unusual? How?”

  “Well, young Blackfyre, if I knew that, Shamus and I wouldn’t have to be riding there in the first place, and besides, it’s nothing that concerns you. You have more important business to take care of—like making sure you never find yer scrawny arse before the King’s Council Tribunal again. Now off you go. I’ll be back in half a fortnight.”

  Simon bounded up the spiral staircase two steps at a time. Approaching the dimly-lit second floor landing, his flagging breath and growing unease dogged his pace and with it the sense that someone or something unseen was observing his every step.